


Sixteen Tons

by the_genderman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Acrophobia, Family Dynamics, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam Wilson Feels, Slice of Life, phobic response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 09:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21390025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: A brief slice-of-life of a trip to the City Museum that could’ve gone a lot better for Sam. Acrophobia doesn’t care what your plans are.
Relationships: Past Sam/Riley - Relationship, Sam Wilson & Sarah Wilson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Sixteen Tons

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t found if Sam’s niece has been named in the comics yet, so I had to make up a name for her. I can go back later and edit if necessary.
> 
> This pre-CA:TWS ficlet asks what if, when Sam got back from Afghanistan, he ended up with a PTSD-related fear of heights because the last time he flew, Riley fell and died, and he blames himself, and how it might impact his civilian life.

_Let’s go down the ten-story slide, it’ll be fun!_ The words swam through Sam’s head on mocking repeat, as hollow as the pipe organ currently playing “Sixteen Tons” for the sixteen thousandth time. Sam’s feet, his heart, his soul, felt at least that heavy as he tried to fight back the sudden fear gripping him. His feet felt like they were welded to the stairs, but his body flooded with the clenching, freezing-hot, prickly feeling like someone was using his guts as a pincushion The feeling of needing to flee, to get somewhere safe and low to the ground. The flash of dizziness, head spinning, gripping the railings tighter with both hands, the irrational fear that if he didn’t hold on tight, he would lose his footing and pitch over the edge. They had railings to prevent falls, but accidents could still happen. He was pretty sure they were higher than six stories up by now; six stories was about as far as the average human could fall and have any decent chance of surviving. At least that was what he thought he remembered, long-buried in some part of his brain.

Sam was good with heights. He was _great_ with heights. He had _flown_. He had flown with nothing between him and the earth far below but air and a few harness straps securing him to a jetpack with a pair of honest to God wings. Soaring, diving, as quick and agile in the air as the falcons his program was named for. But that was then. That was before everything. This, here and now, was him panicking somewhere not quite ten stories up in the St. Louis City Museum. Sure, it might be too dark to see all the way properly to the ground, but he could see enough. It didn’t change the fact that he was too high up and his body knew it. Hadn’t he been through enough already? He closed his eyes, begging them not to slip back down to the metal grating beneath his feet. Why couldn’t it have been solid stairs? Why couldn’t it have been good, solid earth under his feet? Why was this happening to him _now_?

“Uncle Sam? You ok?”

A small hand on his shirtsleeve and his niece’s voice pulled Sam part-way back into himself.

“Breakfast isn’t agreeing with me,” Sam lied, giving a wan smile and shaking his head gently both to emphasize the negative and to try to loosen the tendrils of panic twisting into his brain. “I think I’m gonna go back down.”

“But we’re almost there, I wanna do the slide,” Michelle pouted.

Sam forced himself to let go of the railing with one hand to tap his nephew on the shoulder to get his attention. Jody seemingly hadn’t noticed the disruption behind him; he was in that stage of the teenage years where he didn’t like admitting that he still enjoyed the things he called “childish” and tried to tune out the world around him as he did them.

“Hm?” Jody mumbled as he turned, startling a little at the touch. He pulled one earbud out.

“Ok, first, you shouldn’t be listening to those right now, what happens if you drop them? You know your mom’s not going to buy you a new iPod if you lose it doing something dumb,” Sam said, suddenly simultaneously understanding Jody’s distraction and wishing he could have some music that wasn’t coming from this antique pipe organ to try to keep his head on straight; he could only listen to the same half-dozen tunes on repeat so many times. “But what I was going to say was I’m not feeling so great right now. Breakfast. Do you think you could keep an eye on Michelle until you both get to the bottom of the slide? You’re grown enough to watch her, and if your mom gets upset, I’ll take all the blame.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Jody said, pushing his earbud back in.

Sam gave him a disapproving look.

Jody sighed, fished into his pocket for his iPod, turned it off, and removed his earbuds. He handed it to Sam with an exaggerated frown.

“I’ll keep this safe. You’ll get it back at the bottom of the slide,” Sam said, coiling up the earbuds’ cord, feeling his stomach taking roughly the same shape. He slid the iPod safely into his pocket and turned to head back down the stairs.

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling good, but does this mean you can’t do the rest of the museum with us, too?” Michelle asked, disappointment creeping into her voice.

Sam’s stomach clenched up for a new reason—he was letting his niece down. He’d let enough people down already, and now he was doing it to his _family_, too. He wasn’t being the uncle he could be, _should_ be. “I’ll just go sit and settle and wait for you two, then we’ll see how I’m feeling.”

Michelle gave a little pout that she tried to hide. “Ok,” she nodded.

\-------------------

Sam sat at the table in the little café on the mezzanine slowly sipping a Sprite (he heard his mother’s words in his head, “it’ll calm your stomach”) and staring off into the middle distance. Jody had gotten his iPod back and was picking a playlist to eat to. Sarah was trying to get Michelle to sit down and eat her quesadilla (she was still _stoked_ about the slide and full of that boundless energy unique to little kids). It was so familiar, so familial, that Sam thought it might actually be helping to ground him again.

Sam turned when he saw movement next to him, but it was just his sister sitting down to eat her lunch. Keeping a weather eye on her kids _and_ her brother.

“Talk to me, Sam,” Sarah said after a few beats of stillness, keeping her voice low. Private.

“Nothing to talk about,” Sam shrugged, answering in like. He couldn’t admit what had happened, couldn’t tell her. He kept his family close, but he couldn’t let them see this part of him, this failing, this weakness. He’d always been able to face his fears before, face them and overcome them. He didn’t let fear control him, but he’d done just that, letting it get the better of him. He’d let his fear send him back down those steps, shame burning inside him as he excused himself past all the people who _weren’t_ afraid of those newly dizzying heights.

Sarah hummed, the corners of her mouth turning into a slight frown. “We both had the same breakfast. What’s really wrong? This feels… new? Different. You used to love this kind of stuff. I don’t want to sound callous, but I guess I was hoping this vacation would help take your mind off of things for a moment. I know you’re hurting, but it’s eating you up. We miss you, Sam.”

Sam gave his head an almost imperceptible shake and took another sip of his Sprite. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, can you talk to someone when you go back? Go to the VA? There’s got to be someone there you can talk to who knows how you’re feeling. If you can’t tell me about whatever’s bothering you because I won’t get it or you don’t want to be a burden on me, I understand. I won’t push, just, please. Talk to someone.”

Closing his eyes for the span of one long, slow breath, Sam considered her words. Someone, he didn’t remember who, had suggested he try counseling when he got back. He’d stood at the front doors, unable to uproot his feet from the cracked sidewalk before finally turning around and walking away. He hadn’t faced his fears then, but he could do it now. It wasn’t too late.

“Yeah, alright,” Sam smiled and shrugged.

“Y’know what? I’ll take it,” Sarah replied with a little laugh.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sam took a deep breath and blinked a couple times, just to make sure this was real. He really was standing in front of the VA, the doors right there, waiting. Just two weeks ago, he’d been sitting at a little museum cafe table in St. Louis, sipping a Sprite and listening to his sister tell him that she missed him. The more Sam thought about their conversation, the more he replayed her words in his head, the clearer it became. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he owed it to her, he owed it to his family, he owed it to Riley, he owed it to _himself_ to try again.

Sam fished a mint out of his pocket, hastily unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. Trying to settle his stomach, push the nerves down. All he had to do was go inside, talk to the receptionist at the front desk, and fill out some paperwork. He laughed a little inside, mouth curling into a smile. Oh yeah, _paperwork_. He was pretty sure by the time he finished filling out all the forms, he’d’ve forgotten why he was nervous in the first place. He reached out and pushed the door open.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a very specific setting for the fic. This is a fictionalized account, but I speak from some experience. My acrophobia, though, is far more mundane.


End file.
